Remember Every Scar
by The Fading Star
Summary: Branded as a cut throat, the last thing Jade expected was to be met by a wizard, seeking to employ her and others sharing such a fierce reputation, to protect a certain company as they travel to the Lonely Mountain. With just the promise of gold should the company succeed in their endeavour, it wasn't payment which enticed Jade to agree; but the promise of finally seeking revenge.


In a world of piety, it casts so great a light that as consequence so it creates so black a shadow, threatening to swallow it. This evil is a curse on the land, in the form of monstrous beings polluting where it is they may go and in all retrospect, considering the history of Middle Earth, such terrible forces demanded to be viewed in terror, however, when you're not mastered by a Dark Lord, the humble in comparison, thieves, murderers and renegades of regions far and wide, were often over looked in reputation.

In this regard, they drowned their sorrows in a forsaken town, once claimed by Gondor before their monarchy fell to ruin, turning it into a haven for the common criminal.

Dol-Nor.

With its weathered docks, the town itself wasn't sand, grass or earth, and more like an island protruding from a foul lake, requiring small boats to transport people to and from it.

Seemingly large in scale, its size would not deceive anyone with an eye, to believing it provided any safety if cause arose for the inhabitants to need defense. Even in its prime Dol-Nor had been incapable of withstanding a siege and that was before catapults had crumbled walls and the weather corroded stone, allowing nature to suffocate it with weeds and vines.

Among all communities formed, it was far less civilized than even the Wildmen of Dunland, for at least they had a hold over their livestock, which here were allowed to roam free, and used by drunkards as sport, and means of gambling.

As a lawless place; naturally, it was where the outlawed roamed free as a result, and they were like the blood of a vein, keeping what remained of Dol-Nor alive, and it was at its heart, where life was thickest.

'The Hanging Man.'

Boots kicked up onto the table, I had my chair leant back regarding the ruckus of the tavern teeming with drunkards, and I thought that whoever named this precious landmark, had a poor sense of humor which at the time they must have thought genius, since there was not one person here who did not deserve a noose around their neck, and yet have managed to dodge such a fate, thus far.

Stupidly, they thought our existence here slighted those who would damn us, but I still saw a prison, just of our own design, for there were few who ventured beyond Dol-Nor and try as hard as they might to convince themselves otherwise; that was still owed to fear of getting caught, by their own kin, among other races entirely.

Truly, I might have despised them for their cowardice, but in truth; from what blows I have been dealt personally…I can hardly blame them either.

And that was the curse of it all.

"And how is our creature of night doing this evening? Moonlight suits you dearie."

I had been keeping my head low, and continued to do so, because I didn't need to look up to know who had interrupted my thoughts.

Without candle or torch light, I had made certain to extinguish the flames that had burned in this corner of the vast room, darkening the spot except for the window that revealed the night sky, and so my intruder's remark was in reference to my ghostly complexion. Although, it was not a natural lack of colouring that made my skin so pale, only an experience with severe blood loss and sickness, so as I tucked a lock of my black hair behind my ear, the other hand lifted its middle finger.

"Fuck you Desmond."

I heard him chortle, as well as the screech of the chair next to mine getting drawn back to allow him to sit on it, and as I resented his company, on the other side of me, I was joined by Corby, who I had sent to fetch Desmond the instant our boat docked, and welcomed his comforting presence.

For a moment, we three, or rather myself and Corby, got accustomed to the company we now kept, as music played loudly and though I had witnessed some dispute over a whore earlier on, strangely things had been quiet this evening, so Desmond paid attention to me, when nothing else of promising interest presented itself.

"So, for what reason have I been summoned by the Smiler then, hmm?"

I'm sure if he had shouted it loud enough to make a dent in the racket swarming our ears, the room might have fallen deathly silent at Desmond's words.

Fortunately, such a spectacle had been avoided, save for our shared table, and as I resisted a grimace at the nickname, Corby bolted off his chair and made a lunge towards the one who dared to call me it, until I grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

It took some effort, but he soon realised that I may not appreciate the defence when I was perfectly capable of dealing it myself when I wanted, and on this occasion it was unnecessary for it would only give Desmond the satisfaction of getting an reaction out of who he claimed was made from stone.

The Smiler…

From the corner of my mouth upwards, I had earnt the name after my right cheek was actually severed apart.

A token if you will, from an old foe when they had once captured me.

The injury was now a trademark to my persona, which was no favour to me at all, as people saw the disfigurement and recognised me straight away, so I often took to covering half my face with the scarf I kept around my neck. However, Desmond got some kind of sick thrill from seeing it and I knew his taunting would not stop until I got rid of my guise and with the darkness on my side, I saw no reason why I shouldn't make less hassle for myself.

Tipping my hat back, I could feel Corby's eyes on me hating how Desmond thought this a slight, when I actually didn't care how it marred my face, and I knew it was taking all of his will power, not to knock the smug prick out, when I finally pulled the fabric down and glared at Desmond face on.

Vanity was never an attribute in my character to make me study a mirror, but I did know my reflection and how gruesome my wound was, even though it was in one manner healed.

Anything I said from here on out, the row of teeth that went to the back of my mouth would be constantly on display at an angle they shouldn't be, and then there was the angry red line in the wake of my silence, resembling a smile and originating the name.

The oddity at my disfigurement, physically the only problem I had with it was that it made drinking a pain, as I had to toss my head back as far as it would go, to lessen the chance of spilling the liquid from out the side of my mouth, and while having no choice but to swallow deeply, I couldn't pace the flow of what went down my throat, and would often end up gagging. Thus, I reserved drinking as a private matter with no commentators.

But the temptation surrounding me was cruel, especially when Desmond put me in such a foul mood.

"First you tell me where Selma is. She's meant to be here too."

Desmond took to fixing an animal jaw over his own, but that wasn't the most frightening part of his appearance, when he would often whip out a tongue as long as a lizards, as some sort of habit he once said went back since childhood. Then of course there were his damn eyes, so icy a blue they weren't far off white, with that beady black pupil cutting into you whenever he looked your way.

Twelve years I've known him and unless I gave him a valuable excuse to kill me, he wouldn't actually do me any harm, but still, I couldn't help but shudder now and then when I'm suddenly taken off guard by how striking those eyes of his were.

"Relax," he cautioned, ruffling his short choppy hair, "I've sent someone to get her, in fact; here she is now."

He pointed where among the crowd you could see it parting without, at first glance, cause; just that men and woman alike stumbled from left to right trying to hold on tightly to their cups, then as their numbers grew sparser, the dwarves figure was unmistakable, using her elbows to propel her forwards, until she finally burst from the sea.

For a moment she just stood there staring in our direction, and I wondered if she had any right to be angry with us, though I could scarcely make my memory expand that far back, when last myself and Corby had been at Dol-Nor, and yet seeing as it was Selma, she might be doing the exact same, so when nothing stood out, even where Desmond was concerned, she broke into a smile, making the jewellery dangling off her beard jangle.

"Jade, Corby! What has it been; four months?"

Arms expanded out wide, where dwarves lacked in height they made up for in thickness, at least where Selma was concerned. Admittedly that could be due to the layers she insisted on wearing; Chainmail beneath tunics, waist coats, scarves, belts, fur coats and odd trinkets of armour and decorations dotted randomly on her person.

If she fell into water, she best pray it be shallow otherwise she'd sink straight to the bottom.

I nodded in answer to her question, since it was thereabouts and offered her the chair next to Corby anticipating the one to follow after.

A Hand like a hunk of ham, she wrapped it around a goblet that had been sat there since before I arrived and sniffed the contents.

"So…" she began, swirling the measly drops around inside it and reaching for another, repeating the process of sniffing the drink, "did you bring anything back with you?"

Combining the liquor together, she may have scavenged herself half a cup and downed it in one gulp, waiting on a reply.

Selma couldn't resist playing this game of superiority when it comes to stolen goods. With no one in their right mind willing to trade with us, Dol-Nor was dependant on those like we four gathered, to keep it fed and supplied with coin, when the wretches daren't venture yond the lake.

Our deeds in accomplishing that inspired fame and respect and fear, aspects the greedy dwarf relished in, as well as Desmond who had been captured by the inquiry also. They enjoyed telling the story of their spoils with no lack of theatrics and everyone listened as enchanted as a child, however, that wasn't my or Corby's style.

"Ten barrels of honey ale and a chest of gold," my companion puffed out in a wave of smoke.

Corby was an excessive smoker; each time his tobacco would end, he would no sooner roll up another lot of its leaves into paper to replace it, making the smell so much a part of him.

I remember asking him long ago if he ever thought of quitting, not because it bothered me in the slightest, but in interest if he could see himself without the habit since I could not.

He said no, as it occupied his mouth keeping him from saying the frightful things he often thought. Things that would ruin the mystery people shrouded him with over his laidback exterior, because without it, then he wouldn't witness the sheer shock and terror of those he aimed his violent tendencies towards, which was what made it fun in his regard.

"We left it up to Mr Porter to get it all into the cellars and treasury."

"Ten barrels," Selma deliberated, scratching her chin with her heavily ringed fingers, "not a bad load for just the two of you I suppose."

True enough, she and Desmond have raked in more, only in those instances they pay for the services of willing men to aid them in such hoards and its transportation when they need it. Corby and I, we work more on the basis of fate, luck and chance, ceasing the opportunity to steal when it presented itself.

Either way, what we take all ends up in the same place. Under Mr Porter's charge who takes inventory of the goods, so he may distribute them fairly across town, and though such a man with access to a vast horde may, you think, be under constant danger; he was more than able to take care of himself, since he was a man who accepted the position so as to keep his clever brain in working order and no matter how morally impaired, it was widely understood that without him, Dol-Nor would be in ruins within minutes.

Thus, the town was a well operated machine, if disfunctional.

"Now," Selma dropped her arm against the oak of the table, "are you gonna tell us what this is all about lass?"

Under scrutiny, in case there was even the slightest possibility they might gain some insight into my mind, I suppose I could not blame the pair over their suspicion this situation caused, as it was common knowledge that I much preferred isolation from the general public, the same as Corby did, making my bringing us four together, strange.

Honestly, I found their meagre attempt to read me distasteful, as if it was actually achievable, when they should credit me better than to leave my mind unguarded, and devalue their own skills of perception as there was nothing that could penetrate my shield, when I did not want it too.

If I had less control they might have succeeded, catching not what they searched for, but instead witness the searing surge of anger that caused my temple to throb. Luckily for them though, it scarcely cracked my surface and I exhaled my annoyance in the form of a deep sigh.

"And why," I asked casually, swinging my legs off the table and leaning in close, "does it have to be by my will that you're both here?"

Initiating confusion, the two exchanged a look as my role suddenly spun into question.

"What do you mean?"

My gaze flickered to Desmond, hesitating to put their misunderstanding to right, since him and Selma were intolerant of the notion they could ever be wrong.

A moments pause, and I purposely drawled out an explanation, with the end of my split cheek tugged upwards, bringing my grin almost to my ear,"…The message was a relay-"

Still the sensation was foreign to me and I rubbed a fingertip where my skin creased, "-Of the very same one that reached me when I docked, along with Corby. It seems someone wishes to meet us."

Selma's heavy lidded eyes widened, "and you followed the demand?"

Corby had also been taken aback that I had made this decision, after passing along the note Mr Porter had been instructed to give me as soon as we arrived at Dol-Nor. His tongue rolling the stick of tobacco perched between his lips, it was he who asked the appropriate questions and was annoyed when the old man could answer none, while I remained indifferent.

"Huh!" cried Desmond, banging the table with his fist, "You surprise me Jade."

I could admit that it wasn't like me to do as anyone wanted, no matter who they were. Corby struggled in that area despite being a dear friend and it wasn't selfishness; just that it took only me to draw myself away from the clutches of memory to do anything, which included a simple conversation sometimes. You would think this would bug Corby, but fortunately silence has never bothered him, when he was plagued by his own demons too.

Making a queer sound at the back of her throat, friendship or amusement did not justify my summons for Selma. She would have you believe that she was a busy dwarf, but I doubt she was doing anything of importance besides trying to sway people to place her on a pedestal, with tales that were highly debatable on whether or not they transpired.

Desmond irked me, but he was honest with who he was and couldn't care for others opinions about him. His reputation was effortless and I could respect him for that, while Selma it seemed worked hard to remind everyone about hers and I didn't know if it was a dwarf thing, where a small person was doing what they could to appear big, or the same reason due solely because it was her personality to be so desperate. Either way, for as long as I have known her; I was yet undecided on whether or not I held any regard for her; good, bad, tolerable...

"So if it wasn't you," she retrieved the spare piece of parchment written in a rash hand and unfolded it, "who wrote this?"

Tossing the paper into the centre of the table, it absorbed our attention:

 **'** **If gold and blood is what appeals you,**

 **Come to The Hanging Man.'**

That single sentence scribble in black ink; I say it proved a potential in our teaching everyone an important lesson, should it turn out that this note came from any of the men here, as it screamed audacity which they were too weak to commit, if their dream was to become what we are, as there seemed to be a hierarchy even at this rats nest.

Then there was the possibility this note was to lure us in an ambush, to try and rid Dol-Nor of our presence for all the jealousy we inspire and the hatred that accompanies it. In which case, I wouldn't say no to a fight, as it gave me an appetite for a hearty meal afterwards.

Then finally, it could be that during these troubling times, someone seeks our services. This I felt was far more likely and why it is I conceded to pass it along to those its words might apply to.

If someone wants me to do their dirty work for them, as I suspected, I wanted to see who dared asked and as if they had read my mind, they chose this opportune moment to reveal themselves.

"That; would be me."

Shoulders hunched, the long beard beat Selma's by a mile as it stuck out from under a large hood, nearly beaten by his eyebrows. Garbed in nothing but grey, the plain garment was spiced up by the mud splattered as high as he was tall, along with the accessory of a long wooden staff, which twisted towards the top like bark growing around stone.

"Who the fuck are you."

The foul language struck a nerve. Obviously not the type of crude behaviour he was accustomed with, though I expected that would change seeing as it was my native tongue, with no one else being able to say different.

"Ah..." he drew out a chair Desmond had perched his feet on and was too ignorant to remove. Lounged back, his arrogance was his way to test the old man's patience and where its limits lay, if there was a limit at all. I found usually everyone did have one, but they didn't always let it show when you crossed the line, until they got their own back on you later on.

However, with one jerk Desmond's feet bounced off and I could credit the grey man for the simple gesture as a reminder of this fact, so when he sat in front of me, I did not glower affronted by his presence. I listened; waiting on the good it might do me or the disappointment.

"If I may," his gruff tone was worn like gravel, "my name is Gandalf; Gandalf the Grey."

The title got no response, bar the quirk of Desmond's less than impressed brow, as he adjusted the bone covering his face.

"How very creative."

I held back a laugh over the one who liked to call us Smokes, Smiler, Red and Bones, with the word hypocrite on the tip of my tongue. There must only be a handful of those who have kept their childhood names. Most forsake them to poor memory or lack of care, or need to redefine themselves.

Smiler was not my name.

I still bore that which my mother gave me, and yet I find neither fit. I am not the girl or woman I used to be, for she has endured far too much that she has become a stranger to even myself, while I discover things about who I now am daily, and they often shock me.

And yet the Smiler was as bad a disfigurement to my mental state, as much as the source of it.

Who am I?

Once I might have known the answer; however, I'm afraid that is no more.

"Is this your first time at Dol-Nor?"

Inquisitive, Corby's position hadn't altered to the stranger. He remained as calm and content without even the slightest squint, while he puffed away. His instincts were too blame for that considering the fact that they had never failed if something was amiss. Like lightening his trusted dagger would always find its fatal mark on his target, taking down this Gandalf before Selma and Desmond could probably react, since my awareness of this made any attempt on my half, pointless.

"Oh no, I have been here when it was at its former glory."

That struck a chord of curiosity.

I doubt the ghostly visage of that so called former glory still clung to this town having forsaken it decades ago when all hope was lost it would be liberated from the outlaws, and it was centuries before my kind that Dol-Nor once resembled its sisters.

This man was no elf, making what he said impossible.

His advanced age was too prominent in his appearance to be considered immortal, and if immortality was not in youth, what fate did this man have that it would curse him in such a withering shell?

But there was a certain spark in Gandalf's eyes, telling of tales and yet not even the slightest bit exhausted by them. They spoke of promise in the many days to come and wisdom of those that have passed.

Corby may throw his dagger if he saw cause; however, it wouldn't find its mark on Gandalf the Grey.

That I was certain of.

"Its former glory…do you not think it still glorious?"

This was no test. Selma was actually offended that no one viewed Dol-Nor as some hidden gem. But who could muster enough spit to wash away the dirt, to share her view.

Truly, I look around and it is a pathetic sight.

These people from the eldest man to the youngest urchin have been made lazy because they have been deceived by the belief that they can sit on their asses without care, instead of doing right by their nature of being who and what they are.

Dol-Nor was meant as an escape from civilisation, to be liberated of it so that we could become our own person, however, we've been made common humans again instead of the monsters others had once perceived us as, since more literal ones prove more fearsome even to us. Therefore, civilisation has caught up with us, seeing as we four gathered, are at the head of its survival, like kings and queens.

Only this notion has robbed everyone the freedom of leading their own fate.

thus, in my opinion, Dol-Nor was dead, since no person was willing to fend for themselves, wanting us to do the fighting for them, so if the dark armies ever wander this way; they will be slaughtered just as the rest of the sheep of middle earth, leaving Desmond, Selma, Corby and myself, the failed shepherds, that we never wanted to be in the first place; excluding the dwarf of course.

"Have the decency not to lie to yourself Selma, we see through your delusions, but it would be a shame if you fail to tell the difference between the delusion and what is reality. Dol-Nor is a shithole; accept it."

The light hearted chuckle fooled no one from Gandalf the grey, as he took another gander of the tavern.

"Ha, well it does carry… a certain wonder."

No time to waste on trivial musings with the promise of a long night drinking ahead of me in a room, my chair fell back as I reached over and abruptly pinched the message between my fingers, holding it out like a soiled piece of parchment.

"Enough with the pleasantries and cut to the chase old man! By what does this message mean?"

Whenever I was on the verge of rage with my annoyance, I had to be careful with how freely my mouth expressed it. The way it stretched, it was worse than when I attempted grinning, and I would swear that as far as the split already reached across my face, it wanted to go further.

I flinched, with instinct causing me to touch the accursed chasm as if it would ease the sharp pain, but all I did was draw everyone's attention to it, and though I have claimed it doesn't bother me on a physical level, I hated that it was all people could concentrate on. They stare and remain silent, without asking questions, when they either know how this happened, or make assumptions.

Still standing, I returned the gaze of Gandalf and gave a hollowed laugh, sticking my tongue out to touch the upper and bottom half of what was left of my cheek, pondering from the thousands of other tales, which might match the old mans.

Was it that I drunkenly wanted to prove my tolerance for pain, and did this to myself?

That some nobleman or king inflicted the injury as a warning to all criminals like me?

The result of a fight, an abusive parent…

The list goes on and on, and none of them come even close to the truth.

I wanted oblivion. The smell of ale and smoke perfuming the air, the drunken disorderly roaming on shaky legs, I wanted to be a slave to it so that I wouldn't remember and I would be liberated from trying to keep my past behind solid iron bars somewhere deep at my core.

But if I gave in and tried to drink my fill from one of the cups on the table, the staring would worsen at the spectacle of my pathetically trying to do so.

The note scrunched into a ball within my tightening fist to stop the trembling, while the other hoisted the cup up and launched it at some random head, watching as a brawl broke out when they blamed all the wrong culprits behind it.

The screaming of whores, the scurrying of pickpockets and shouting of men, I had created quite the scene, which lifted brows in surprise.

"Well that was a tad dramatic."

If by Desmond's standards he judged the action to be so, then it must have been, but I ignored him refusing to sit back down when the clock was ticking for how long I remained interested.

"I'll say it again; what does the message mean."

Stroking his beard, the ruckus I had triggered just on the other side of him barely made Gandalf the least bit concerned.

Crude language was too much, but a violent fight over a thrown cup, barely made a dent that was visible to the naked eye. He had prepared himself for coming here and knew a thing or two about self-defence. That much I had deduced already, but now I wanted to know why he was here, and why he wanted us to join him.

Realising this, he sighed and sat himself more comfortably, with his back resting properly against the chair, and with some deliberation on where to begin, he then finally started to dissolve all mystery.

"Under my urgency, I have roused some one of importance to carry out their destiny. The end result lacks no amount of danger or risk of life and they have with them thirteen members of their party, with an impending fourteenth, to aid them towards victory. However, there is another risk lurking in the world, which they are unaware of."

Our silence encouraged him to continue.

"He believes; that this risk has long since been dead. But that is not the case. It lives. And it is set on destroying my employer, which is a burden I wish not to lay on his shoulders, on top of everything else for I fear his priorities might change from one cause to another. What I ask of you all, is to act as the companies shield in a way, as they go about their adventure, from this threat."

Selma chuckled, "what, Can they not defend themselves? Some men!"

"Oh they can, and will die trying! Which is what worries me. Seeking vengeance on one enemy is not what is important here, and without being prepared of running into them, they may have a fight on their hands which they are not ready for. I need my employer focused on the goal I've set out for him and I want nothing to hinder that."

Another puff of smoke hung around us from Corby, "So kill the foe, protect your employer, and then what?"

Gandalf gave a deep grumble that was like a tree creaking as he tried to start his sentence, after explaining to us the appeal of blood, and moving onto the gold.

"You will be Richly Rewarded."

Anyone who has in the past struck a deal with us promise much the same and it can often end in a mess should their end of the bargain fall through, which is why stealing is so much easier. There is no bullshit, just a few puncture wounds and threats, or raids, and the goods are ours.

Business like this requires trust and since we didn't like entering into things which may prove a waste of energy, and as a pessimist, Corby assessed the proposal in order to discover its flaws.

"Richly rewarded ay? So tell me mister Gandalf, will your employer so readily pay us, knowing that it was in fact a band of cut throats that were protecting him the entire time he was on his little mission…of course that's, Should he succeed."

"Well; He need not know about your reputation. In fact, it would be better if he didn't know about your existence, until after everything is done. "

"You would deceive him then…how do we know you won't deceive us? That our services will go unpaid?"

I suspect Corby's dark fingers, itched to grab hold of his dagger by now, waiting on the desperate pleas around Gandalf's honour to keep his word, that he has never turned his back on a promise and how he wouldn't dare do such a thing to us.

He would give these pleas, and Corby would be swift to follow his killer instinct. However, whether Gandalf would remain seated alive and more alerted to a fight, would remain in question.

"You don't."

Now there's the blunt honesty you had to respect. The kind which speaks of bravery, to allow the words to fend for themselves rather than laying excuse after excuse on top of one another, which despite the thickness, still makes them transparent when they lack in potency.

Nails sharpened into needles, Desmond strummed them to chip away at the stillness of our like mindedness which appreciated, though we wouldn't admit to it, Gandalf's admittance. It showed mutual respect towards us, but there was one thing we still wanted to know as we exchanged glances.

"Who is this risk you keep talking about? He must be fierce if it causes this much worry."

Selma leaned in when the old man wasn't so quick to reply, "Spit it out. Or we walk away."

There came that grumble again trying to make out the start of his words. A nervous quirk it must be when he risked breaching some information he knew wouldn't be taken well.

I wanted to follow Selma's example and demand for him to get it over with, only he locked his gaze with mine, though my hat had tipped forwards after my sudden burst beforehand to shadow my face, and what his blue eyes cried was that I was a fool to want to know so imminently, but it could not be avoided.

If a deal was to be struck, the facts had to be laid out.

"…A loathsome and cruel creature; **Azog the Defiler**."

I can remember when I had stolen my first horse when I was still a child; A stallion from the lands of Rohan. Formidable beasts they are. Unless your blood was of the horse lords themselves, they could sniff you out as an intruder immediately, as well as your intentions, and while I flung myself atop ones back, it rejected me with a single thrust of its back, launching me over its head to land on my back.

It was as if the impact had knocked my lungs dry of any air, which was how I felt now, trying to remember how to breathe, unable to speak, totally stunned, while my heart battled to beat with a powerful thrumming.

"Jade."

Trying to grip my hand, they must have been like ice and I retracted it from Corby to press it against my chest which internally felt like it was tightening.

 _"_ _You can't be fucking serious!"_

 _"_ _Even we have limits here mate!"_

 _"_ _This is a suicide mission!"_

The arguments made by my company were distant, like faint echoes carried by the wind.

However, the abuse wasn't heeded by Gandalf, since his eyes still bore into me watching as they widened under the torment I put myself through, and then when I thought they might pop right out from my skull, I managed to squeeze them shut, only to reopen them bloodshot not from irritation, but the rage blazing within, swiftly replacing the shock.

"I'm in."

Heads turned in my direction when my agreement was grinded past gritted teeth.

"What?"

The real question Desmond meant, was what possible reason would I make myself a part of this deal. I off all people, who was as cold and distant as the furthest star, preferring a dim light rather than draw any attention to myself, doing things by my own terms without instruction that might restrain me.

There is no way Desmond or Selma combined could insult me, I could answer their insolence back with clever and offensive comebacks.

What I couldn't accept though, is the ludicrous idea that they genuinely believe they know me.

When truly; they had no fucking idea who and what I am.

"I said, I'll do it."

"In a weeks' time, it means you need to be ready when we are to begin our adventure."

Something told me that this Gandalf knew that didn't matter. Satisfied with the accomplishment of gaining my support at least, he seemed dangerously pleased about it as if the meeting was an obstacle to my inevitable choice that I had just made. This narked me the wrong way, but it also wouldn't stop me either.

Less forceful this time, my chair screeched as I pushed it back and rose, "It wouldn't matter if it started now right this second. I'd be ready."

Lifting my crimson scarf from around my neck, I readied myself to wander through Dol-Nor's crowds towards a vacant room, tightening the fabric to sit just under my nose. I was done here, and both dwarf and man were flabbergasted by my decision.

"You truly think you'll be able to do this alone!"

You'd swear By Selma's bemused exclamation that I was a child vouching to slay an ogre with nothing but a wooden sword. But if I be clouded by a child's courage in so reckless a job as to take on Azog, it would do me no harm, for it was a child's courage that made me jump on the back of a stallion, and though I lost to it, I have since swapped wood for steel, and have become experienced with the world and grown in wisdom.

I was willing to try, despite the higher chance for failure over victory, and I could tell that my having the balls to do it made Desmond question his manhood, as his serpent tongue whipped in and out.

"Fuck if I let you have the glory!"

"…How much you willing to pay anyway?"

Obviously it was Selma who'd ask this, nudging Gandalf's shoulder.

"You could rebuild Dol-Nor thrice over, if you wish."

Those red furry caterpillars nearly reached her hairline, and I could practically see the payment glittering in the dwarf's eyes, forgetting the caution Gandalf threw at us, whether the transaction would be successful, whether by his company's death, ours perhaps, or even his employer's refusal.

Though the latter didn't hold much merit, since she and Desmond have probably dealt with such employers before, and their knives have never been blunt or a throat too thick in those instances.

A criminal is a criminal after all.

"Money and fame, do I take that as your agreement?"

Desmond looked to Selma who nodded, "Buy us a round of drinks and I suppose so, old man."

Cackling loudly, this was an interesting turn in events as I have never worked with Selma and Desmond before, though we share a common trade, and with them in tow, that only left one.

Skin as dark as the night; it was flawless and smooth to the point where you would find yourself staring at him in amazement that someone could live without so much as a single blemish to mar his complexion, and how well his adventurous life had sculpted him, so that you could see beneath his cotton shirt the ridges of his hard muscles.

Corby's shocking green eyes had an excellent canvas which worked in their favour to truly make them vibrant, and they were distant while he contemplated if his next move was to follow us.

We waited.

Waited until he began prepping his tobacco again; licking the paper closed into a long roll.

"Fools!" he snarled, sauntering over to me and briskly flicking the brim of my hat, "you're going to get yourselves killed."

Underneath my scarf my mouth quirked as he lingered a little longer and then wandered off, causing others to turn his way besides we four.

With the power to make every woman swoon, Corby would bed none and I had seen his eye linger on a man often enough to figure out for myself why that was.

He was aware I knew of course, though he never has admitted where his attractions lay aloud, but I didn't think him a coward for it.

It was simply just no one's business, and it didn't vex him in the slightest when Desmond would mock him for a eunuch, though I expected the bastard knew about Corby, and in some way was slighted he hadn't made a move on him, as prideful he was.

But just because Corby was gay, it didn't mean he hadn't a type in men.

Between us there were no secrets and we stuck together because we understood one another and didn't let our judgment over our actions influence our relationship.

Wherever we roamed, it was always together.

However, Desmond teasingly wanted to hear that assured, hollering, "Does that mean you're coming?"

Above the rest of the taverns noise, Corby's fair reply hit us, "Fuck you Desmond!" making the serpent grin.

Now that we all knew where we stood, there was just one last question to be asked.

"So, where do we begin acting as your company's shield?"

Gandalf chuckled to himself as if at a joke we wouldn't understand, and then in all seriousness said this:

"Have you ever been to The Shire?"

* * *

 **In all seriousness I have no idea where these characters came from** **besides just suddenly popping in my head and making me type up this chapter. their not the conventional characters, belonging to middle earth.**

 **lets face it they have a foul mouth and don't stray from mature themes, so if its insulted you in that regard I am sorry, but that's how I view them and I can't change that, otherwise they wouldn't be genuine and I'd be doing them an injustice, especially Desmond, cheeky bastard that he is.**

 **I cant promise the chapters will be consistent in uploads, but there will be more, so in the mean time, why not leave a review and your opinion about the characters, as it will help me along.**

 **thank you,**

 **X**


End file.
